


Proserpinae

by Valya (grandSolovey)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Implied Cannibalism, Mild Gore, Other, Strangulation, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandSolovey/pseuds/Valya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his dreams, Will is taken by the void. But never has he had a dream quite like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proserpinae

The dreams just keep getting stranger and stranger.

This one starts with darkness — utter darkness, an empty and endless void. What lies beneath Will’s feet is not solid, but uncertain, a surface he’s sure will give way should he make even the slightest motion to find steady ground. He doesn’t fall yet, not now, but he will. He will.

He feels it before he sees it: the creeping darkness curling around his ankles, snaking up his legs and thighs. Before he even has the time to react, he’s moored to the spot. Panic strikes him; he claws at the darkness, grasps with desperation at each crawling tendril, but its hold on him is sure and unyielding. 

No, no. He isn’t ready for this. He isn’t ready to fall, not yet. But he’s already lost his balance. It’s already too late.

He begins to topple backwards, but rather than falling into the pitch, he finds himself suspended. A lengthy tendril wraps itself around his chest, holding him aloft, and then another, and another, and another winds about his shoulders and arms and by the time he thinks to move it’s already too late.  He’s bound and pulled apart, legs spread wide, naked and helpless against the slick and insistent ministrations of the dark  _thing_  that holds him in place.  It slides between his legs, prods and presses against him, curls around his burgeoning cock, and Will hears a shuddering moan sound from the back of his throat. He wonders, briefly, if he’s been making noise this entire time. He wonders, even more briefly, why he isn’t screaming.

As soon as the thought leaves him, he feels the thing coiling around his throat, gently squeezing, just as it wraps around his cock and squeezes him there much less gently.  He makes another noise, whines and tries in vain to move his hips, but the coil on his throat tightens and leaves him barely enough room to breathe. Nowhere else does it tighten its grip, however; it begins to move instead, rubbing across his chest and nipples and pressing down against his belly, pushing up against his entrance, pushing, pushing in.

He gasps, sucks in as much air as his strangled throat will allow, arches his back and strains against the thing’s grip as best he can and still it does not yield.  It only continues to push, to curl and wrap and squeeze, its path aided by some oily substance he can’t even imagine.  The touch of it burns him, yet leaves him cold and wanting in its wake; he can feel it inside himself, unfathomably hot and tingling, as it writhes and wriggles and surges into him.

 _No, no._  He isn’t ready for this. But the void cares not for his thoughts.

He realizes, dimly, that protest is useless by this point, but still his voice sounds again. He feels it winding around his throat again, winding further, further, until it traces up the line of his jaw and reaches the corner of his lips.  _No, no._  He begins to say it, to shout it, to scream against the pressure at his throat, but already it’s too late. It slithers past his lips, pushes into his mouth, and holds itself there no matter how he thrashes his head or attempts to bite down. The surface of it is smooth against his tongue, soft like flesh and yet impenetrable against his teeth; the oil it secretes burns his mouth and tastes sickly sweet.

He can’t move. He can barely breathe. Still the void cares not, and Will can only think of one thing to do. He sucks at the thing in his mouth, scrapes his teeth against it as he rubs and supplicates it with his tongue, and while it doesn’t relent as he’d hoped, it begins to move with fervor.

The only sound he can manage by now is a small one, but he makes it as loudly as he can as it surges again, fucks him at both ends with greater force and speed than he could have ever imagined. The tendrils wrapped around him are moving as well, laving over his flushed and swollen cock, sickly sweet oil mixing with precum and sweat. He realizes, even more dimly, that its limbs are moving in concert with each other, that each one is set to its own task, but each pass they make, against his cock and thrusting themselves into him, sends jolt after jolt after wave after wave circuiting and crashing throughout his body.

He tries to move himself with it, sucks harder — _no, no_ — he can’t stop. He can’t stop and he can’t breathe and his vision is dark and starry but it hardly matters because his nerves are electric and singing with fire and it’s pulsing inside him, he can feel it about to burst, he can taste a flood of burning sweetness in his mouth, and oh, oh, he’s coming harder than he ever thought possible.

In an instant, everything crystallizes. The limbs suspending him inside and out burst with spikes, spiraling like the electric fractal of a lightning strike. He is no longer held aloft, but pinned in place.

He can see the darkness now. He can see its form as it juts from his groin and belly and throat, and what he sees is the long and sharpened points of a set of blackened antlers.

Will awakens to find himself drenched with sweat, flooded with adrenaline, and sticky with come. The combination of three is something new to him, and it leaves him uneasy in the day that lies ahead.

  


* * *

  


By the time he arrives at Dr. Lecter’s dinner table, his unease has mostly left him. But the memory of his dream still lingers.

Before him is a plate of artfully arranged braised lamb in a thick, reddish-brown glaze, garnished with parsley and an arrangement of plump red seeds. The combination of flavors isn’t one that Will has ever heard of before. But then again, so are most of the dishes Dr. Lecter serves him.

“The pomegranate fruit,” says Dr. Lecter as he takes his seat, “was a ubiquitous symbol in ancient culture. It represented fertility and prosperity to those civilizations in which it was known, as well as the cycle of death and rebirth. Even the earliest Christian artwork used the pomegranate motif to stand for the resurrection of Christ.”

Will gingerly tests the lamb with his fork. The meat is tender, pulling apart easily beneath the tines. “Why is that?”

“The Greek goddess Persephone, kidnapped by Hades, was held in the underworld against her will.”  Dr. Lecter’s accented voice is careful, measured, and precise, just as it always is, just as he always is.  ”She was eventually granted freedom, but at a cost, for she had eaten three seeds of the pomegranate during her stay. For those three seeds she was doomed to spend three months of each year in the underworld, and the land above grew lifeless and barren in her wake.”

“Three seeds . . . ”  Will is only paying half attention to Dr. Lecter now; past the thick scent of the lamb is something dark and heady, something he can’t quite put his finger on.  ”That hardly sounds fair.”

“Perhaps it isn’t.  But this is Greek mythology, after all, and there are many sides to a single tale.  Some tell the story that she descended to the underworld and stayed there of her own accord, seeds and all.”

Will takes his first bite of the lamb. Beneath the meat and spices, he can detect a taste of something sickly sweet. He lifts his gaze for a moment, just for a moment, just long enough to spy the good doctor watching him with a soft, dark smile on his face.


End file.
